Vankleek Hill is a very small place. You can walk from one end to the other in about 15 minutes, I'd guess - though I haven't tried it. Certainly, you can walk the length of main street in less than that if you don't window shop.
But this place, for its size, is surprisingly vibrant and ... dare I say? Cool. There are, of course, lots of century homes and run-down rural buildings of all kinds, along with lots of random bored young people. But the fact remains that if I had children this is the kind of place where I'd like to raise them.
Cas and were talking yesterday about small towns. Vankleek Hill is the kind of place that gets idealized in American folklore - the small town in the country, surrounded by farms, where everybody knows everybody's business. In Canadian folklore, it's the kind of place where people freeze to death in winter after having had a bit too much to drink, or where a series of sordid murders happens, perpetrated by some disaffected pig farmer.
As far as I can tell, there are no pig farmers near Vankleek Hill. There are cattle, sheep, horses and llamas... but no pigs. No poultry, either. At least none that I have seen. So maybe we'll avoid the gruesome murders and ensuing media attention. As for freezing to death, I have a feeling that you could just knock on a neighbour's door and they'd warm you up with a nice draught of something warm before sending you home.
Mind you, I was somewhat disconcerted to learn that a village of fewer than 2000 souls apparently needs a food bank. It bears watching. More to come, no doubt.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Vankleek Hill
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
If you were a dog, you'd do this too
First of all, it's funny. Funny dogs are popular dogs.
Second, it's cool and refreshing. In fact, the dog's owner (no, this is not our dog) told us that some day she was going to crawl into the mud and try it herself. I asked if I could watch when she did that, and she immediately specified that she would be fully clothed. Fair enough. I still want to watch.
Third, by doing this you get rid of that icky shampoo smell and replace it with the sweet, sweet smell of spring muck, with all the stuff rotting in it and such. (Remember, you're a dog here).
But fourth and most important, it makes you king of the mud puddle!
This is solo the golden retriever. My understanding is that his owner had to go straight to work from the dog park. I'm only guessing, but I'd say she might have arrived late!
... either that, or the sofa was a real mess when she got home.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Water Tank (Exploration)
I entered a photo contest last weekend, in which the challenge was to take one photo of each of nine subjects in a 48 hour period. (The subjects were: Neon, reflection, brick, public performance, old door, water tank, train track, playground and reading).
This is the entry for "water tank". Cas doesn't like it. I do.
The other entries are here.
Playground
Pokey the dog has discovered the mud. At least she's having fun. Since Wrinkles died I had my chance to mourn him, but Cas and I knew that we couldn't live 'dogless'. I thought we were going to wait a year, but then Cas called one day to tell me that she had found a puppy, and that I was sure to like her - in fact, if I didn't like her, Cas announced that she would be leaving me.
Fortunately, I did like her. What's not to like? She's a little black goldendoodle (cross between a golden retriever and a standard poodle), currently 5 months, one week old, and growing like a little proverbial weed. We named her "Pokey" after Gumby's pony pal, but we also like to say that it's short for Polkeroo - from the Polka Dot Door, a Canadian kid's show from the seventies.
I have to say, though, the Polkaroo is a pretty scary beast. Don't know if we really want to name her for that.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wrinkles' Last Walk
Cas took this picture during our last walk, just an hour before it was time for Wrinkles to go. He was weak and old, but could still walk, and he loved the park, so we took him there. He sniffed around, greeted some other dogs, played a little bit. He was pretty worn out by the time we reached the vet's office, but that was OK. He had had a good last day. Good bye, old boy. Nobody could have asked for a better friend. I will miss him.
1997-2008
RIP, Old Friend. He was almost 12, and died in my arms.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Road to the Wood Lot
I always enjoy the farm in Brockville. This was a particularly lovely day, so Bedford and I went for a bit of a walk (Wrinkles the dog was too sore to come along, being old) and I took some pictures near the entrance to the woodlot. These kinds of days are the ones I think back to with the most pleasure - days when the whole world becomes one tree-lined path, a cool, light breeze, and the occasional flash of colour.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Fall Colours
It's fall again. The trees explode in colour just before the world goes white and grey for five months. I love winter, but sometimes the transition is a bit rough.
I do like the maple trees, though.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Silo#5
It's a Montreal landmark, and over-photographed. Nevertheless, here is my rendition of this important relic of our industrial past.
View large on black
Monday, June 23, 2008
Seeing the world differently
I'm noticing details more. The world looks different. Plus, I have started seeing things I don't think are there. Or rather, they are there, but they're not what they appear to be. I'm probably just insane.
I have been enjoying photography a great deal for the last several years, in particular since Cas gave me a brand-spanking new Canon DSLR for Christmas last year. I had been complaining for a while that my old digital camera - a very nice, if somewhat old and worn out Kodak that is now discontinued - was not able to do the things I wanted to do with it. I guess there was a kind of creative gap between what I was seeing (there I go again) and what the camera was able to see. Or so I thought, anyway.
The new camera is better. It is more versatile, more fun to use, looks cooler (yes, that matters), and I can come more closely to approximating what I think I see when I use this camera. And that's just with the kit lens! Now I'm complaining that I need more lenses, a better tripod, and yadda yadda yadda. I really do need a new lens to be able to zoom in on people on the street, but it seems to be going well for now. I sometimes have to get a lot closer to the person than I want, or (as in the photo above) I sometimes have to do some creative cropping. (By the way, if you recognize this woman or the people below, please let me know so that I can contact them. I think they might like to know that these photos are here.)
Now I have to pay attention to the light coming through the lens - aperture, sensor sensitivity, shutter speed, etc. The last camera wanted to do it all automatically, though by the time I was done with it I was keeping it on manual settings most of the time and trying to set these things. Not easy with a point-and-shoot camera, but kinda-sorta possible.
And through the learning curve this involves, my new camera is having another interesting effect on me. Yes, it lets me take more interesting pictures that are closer to the ones I want to take. But it's also making me see the world more in terms of its details and juxtapositions. Rather than merely taking in the whole crowd at the Tam-tams in Montreal yesterday, I spent time looking around at the individuals - noticing people's facial expressions, the way they moved, the ways they positioned themselves in relation to one another. I don't think I saw my world as much, previously. And, even though I ended up using a lot of black and white in the final versions of the pictures I took, I noticed not just the light and shadow, but the colours.
Yes, I also enjoyed the music and dancing, the sun on my skin and the friends I was with.
But this added dimension makes it better, I think. It's somehow deeper, if that metaphor makes any sense (I ought to be able to find a better one). This is one of the many discoveries that have started coming along as I am getting older, and one I wish I had turned up when I was 17 rather than 47.
Or maybe I did and lost it somewhere in the middle, along with so many other things, in a haze of hormones, bad religion and raw emotion.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
day labourers
Pakistan has a reputation in Canada as a place that is rough and dangerous - and in some areas I suppose it is. There are people here who genuinely wish others harm and who are willing to harm themselves in the process. Nevertheless, it is also a country filled with people who are just simply getting along like everyone else. Most are friendly and warm, and most will welcome you when you greet them. Like most people everywhere I go, they are interested in learning about foreigners and their countries, and they enjoy having contact with them.
I had intended for some time to take some pictures of the day labourers who wait for work on Street 16 near where we used to live in Islamabad, but I didn't get around to it before leaving Pakistan last January. Every day, throughout most of the year, you can see these men hunkered by the curb, often sheltering under trees from the sun or rain, their tools arranged in little pyramids before them - a sort of advertising: I can do whatever can be done with these implements. Hire me.
Thing is, I generally try not to take pictures of people without permission when traveling in the developing world - I find that it is somewhat objectifying to do so sometimes, and besides, some people just don't want to have their picture taken. Also, in Islam (at least as practiced in Pakistan), some people believe it is against God's law to allow themselves to be photographed. So it's really much more respectful to ask.
And anyway, this is a great way to meet people!
Despite what I just said, most Pakistanis seem to love photographs - when they are in them. Someone once told me, but I don't know if it's true, that it's considered lucky to have your picture taken with a foreigner, but that doesn't explain why people so often approach me when I have my camera in hand, and ask to have their picture taken. In the case of these day labourers, this is exactly what happened, so I didn't have to ask for permission - they called to me as I was coming up to them and practically started to pose on the spot! I was only too happy to oblige, of course, as that's why I was there. We chatted for a few minutes (as much as possible considering we had a language barrier), and a couple of them told me their names, but except for one who was named Ali I forget them. Perhaps they'll remember mine.
I had intended for some time to take some pictures of the day labourers who wait for work on Street 16 near where we used to live in Islamabad, but I didn't get around to it before leaving Pakistan last January. Every day, throughout most of the year, you can see these men hunkered by the curb, often sheltering under trees from the sun or rain, their tools arranged in little pyramids before them - a sort of advertising: I can do whatever can be done with these implements. Hire me.
Thing is, I generally try not to take pictures of people without permission when traveling in the developing world - I find that it is somewhat objectifying to do so sometimes, and besides, some people just don't want to have their picture taken. Also, in Islam (at least as practiced in Pakistan), some people believe it is against God's law to allow themselves to be photographed. So it's really much more respectful to ask.
And anyway, this is a great way to meet people!
Despite what I just said, most Pakistanis seem to love photographs - when they are in them. Someone once told me, but I don't know if it's true, that it's considered lucky to have your picture taken with a foreigner, but that doesn't explain why people so often approach me when I have my camera in hand, and ask to have their picture taken. In the case of these day labourers, this is exactly what happened, so I didn't have to ask for permission - they called to me as I was coming up to them and practically started to pose on the spot! I was only too happy to oblige, of course, as that's why I was there. We chatted for a few minutes (as much as possible considering we had a language barrier), and a couple of them told me their names, but except for one who was named Ali I forget them. Perhaps they'll remember mine.
What the kids are saying, or: the difference between boys and girls
I originally was going to title this "Insight into Boys and Girls". It's based somewhat on what I know about my sister's tastes and preferences.
That is me on the left in the funky purple pants, with my two brothers and my sister. It was taken some time around 1975 or 76, in front of the garage door of my parents' house. I guess my father thought it would be a good idea to line us up according to age and/or height. Kim didn't seem to be into it as much as the rest of us... and now you know why.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
I Feel a Rant Coming On...
There is a debate in Quebec about "reasonable accommodation" of immigrants from non-western countries, particularly muslims. Some of the debate has racist overtones, but mostly I think it is just people trying to cope with the challenge of other peoples' ways. Nevertheless, I was reading yet another article on the subject this morning, when this photo came to mind. I didn't take a lot of photos of women while in Pakistan, but this is one I did manage to capture as we drove by in our car, in Karachi last June 1.
Today's article, in La Presse, was about a decision by the Directeur Général des Élections du Québec to require veiled Muslim women wishing to vote to identify themselves to election officials by lifting their veils to show their faces. The response (also in the newspaper) from the Muslim community was that this was really not much of an issue, since the vast majority of women will do just this if necessary, though preferably to a woman rather than a man (and fair enough). They just wish the elections officials had spoken to them about it before making the big announcement.
The response from some other commentators was a lot of lofty tsk-tsking and worrying about social strife.
The announcement was apparently made necessary by several factors, including hostile verbal attacks from some quarters, compounded by a stupid series of articles in another newspaper (the Journal de Montréal) in which the Niqab was compared to any mask, and people threatened to "protest" (against what, exactly?) by going to the polls wearing Darth Vader masks and the like. The DGE even received physical threats and has had to hire bodyguards.
What really burns me about this is that for a couple of days, André Boisclair of the Parti Québécois has been using this fabricated "issue" of veiled women voting in his election campaign. I suppose he and his supporters have no shame. No more than Jean Charest, the Liberal leader and (for the moment) Premier of the province. He hasn't been making quite the hay that Boisclair has been making, but he is clearly not on the right page here, taking the same stand. This morning's Globe and Mail has a good editorial about it.
My observation has been that the Muslim community in Québec has not been at the origin of much of the debate about "reasonable accommodation". On the contrary, much of the hostility - and debate - seems to be coming from the majority community, and mostly from people who are being inconvenienced in very minor ways (or not at all) by the need to deal with the demands of other cultures on the members of those cultures themselves. What difference does it make to me if a woman covers her face in public? What difference does it make to me if a man or woman wishes a space in which to pray in a public institution? Why do I care (to take a different religion and a different issue) that a police force adjusts its uniform to allow officers (and fellow citizens) to wear their (culturally and religiously required) turbans while on duty. In other words, I just don't get the controversy.
And this tendency to talk about "us" and "them"? Discouraging. Never mind those born here - children of immigrants. They are fellow citizens, period. But think of immigrants: If someone has chosen to move permanently to Canada, and if Canada has accepted him or her as a resident and ultimately a new citizen, then "they" are "us". They get to add their distinctiveness to our community, and we get to grow and learn from them. This isn't open-mindedness; it's just the way things are. And so much the better for my country.
I think most Canadians get this, and in Quebec as much as anywhere else. But as usual, a small number of bigots are getting far too much press of late, and the vast majority that just wants to get along and figure things out is being misled about the wishes and expectations of minority communities.
On a more minor point...
From my perspective, many of the veiled muslim women in Quebec look very dour, in their black niqabs and chadors. This is just a fashion comment - it has nothing to do with religion or ethnicity or whether the women in question should dress this way (see above for that). I can't help but think, though, that perhaps if they dressed more colourfully the whole issue would take on a different tone. Pakistani women dress in bright colours: It's fun. The woman in the picture is actually a bit drab for Pakistan.
But ... as someone who is himself often cited for violations by the fashion police, far be it from me to give advice. Well, apparently not all that far. Ok, end of rant.
Today's article, in La Presse, was about a decision by the Directeur Général des Élections du Québec to require veiled Muslim women wishing to vote to identify themselves to election officials by lifting their veils to show their faces. The response (also in the newspaper) from the Muslim community was that this was really not much of an issue, since the vast majority of women will do just this if necessary, though preferably to a woman rather than a man (and fair enough). They just wish the elections officials had spoken to them about it before making the big announcement.
The response from some other commentators was a lot of lofty tsk-tsking and worrying about social strife.
The announcement was apparently made necessary by several factors, including hostile verbal attacks from some quarters, compounded by a stupid series of articles in another newspaper (the Journal de Montréal) in which the Niqab was compared to any mask, and people threatened to "protest" (against what, exactly?) by going to the polls wearing Darth Vader masks and the like. The DGE even received physical threats and has had to hire bodyguards.
What really burns me about this is that for a couple of days, André Boisclair of the Parti Québécois has been using this fabricated "issue" of veiled women voting in his election campaign. I suppose he and his supporters have no shame. No more than Jean Charest, the Liberal leader and (for the moment) Premier of the province. He hasn't been making quite the hay that Boisclair has been making, but he is clearly not on the right page here, taking the same stand. This morning's Globe and Mail has a good editorial about it.
My observation has been that the Muslim community in Québec has not been at the origin of much of the debate about "reasonable accommodation". On the contrary, much of the hostility - and debate - seems to be coming from the majority community, and mostly from people who are being inconvenienced in very minor ways (or not at all) by the need to deal with the demands of other cultures on the members of those cultures themselves. What difference does it make to me if a woman covers her face in public? What difference does it make to me if a man or woman wishes a space in which to pray in a public institution? Why do I care (to take a different religion and a different issue) that a police force adjusts its uniform to allow officers (and fellow citizens) to wear their (culturally and religiously required) turbans while on duty. In other words, I just don't get the controversy.
And this tendency to talk about "us" and "them"? Discouraging. Never mind those born here - children of immigrants. They are fellow citizens, period. But think of immigrants: If someone has chosen to move permanently to Canada, and if Canada has accepted him or her as a resident and ultimately a new citizen, then "they" are "us". They get to add their distinctiveness to our community, and we get to grow and learn from them. This isn't open-mindedness; it's just the way things are. And so much the better for my country.
I think most Canadians get this, and in Quebec as much as anywhere else. But as usual, a small number of bigots are getting far too much press of late, and the vast majority that just wants to get along and figure things out is being misled about the wishes and expectations of minority communities.
On a more minor point...
From my perspective, many of the veiled muslim women in Quebec look very dour, in their black niqabs and chadors. This is just a fashion comment - it has nothing to do with religion or ethnicity or whether the women in question should dress this way (see above for that). I can't help but think, though, that perhaps if they dressed more colourfully the whole issue would take on a different tone. Pakistani women dress in bright colours: It's fun. The woman in the picture is actually a bit drab for Pakistan.
But ... as someone who is himself often cited for violations by the fashion police, far be it from me to give advice. Well, apparently not all that far. Ok, end of rant.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Remember this Face
This photo was also posted on my other blog, but I thought it would be a good place to start here, as well. The comments below are also pretty much the same, though I've added a bit, and thrown in a second photo.
I took the photo in December, 2006 while returning from the border ceremony at Wagah, near Lahore. I find myself returning to this face very often - something about the man himself, and the portrait, seems to have become part of me.
He is a worker in one of the brick kilns that dot the landscape in northern Punjab, where they make bricks from the red clay. I had wanted to have a look inside one of these places for a while, and my driver stopped spontaneously, suggesting we go in here. I was only there for about 10 minutes, but it was enough to confirm that I am very glad this is not my lot in life.
Many (some say most or all) of the labourers in these kilns are essentially slaves - bonded-debt labourers. I don't know what this young man's status is, but I fear he is in that group. Like most Pakistanis he was very happy about having his picture taken by a Western visitor, and when I showed him his own face on the back of my digital camera, he squealed with delight and ran off laughing. I still think of him often.
The other photo is the same man with his companions. When I invited them to have their photo taken, they were naturally very happy - and a couple of the quickly ran off to get a couple of bricks and some materials they use in their work.
I took the photo in December, 2006 while returning from the border ceremony at Wagah, near Lahore. I find myself returning to this face very often - something about the man himself, and the portrait, seems to have become part of me.
He is a worker in one of the brick kilns that dot the landscape in northern Punjab, where they make bricks from the red clay. I had wanted to have a look inside one of these places for a while, and my driver stopped spontaneously, suggesting we go in here. I was only there for about 10 minutes, but it was enough to confirm that I am very glad this is not my lot in life.
Many (some say most or all) of the labourers in these kilns are essentially slaves - bonded-debt labourers. I don't know what this young man's status is, but I fear he is in that group. Like most Pakistanis he was very happy about having his picture taken by a Western visitor, and when I showed him his own face on the back of my digital camera, he squealed with delight and ran off laughing. I still think of him often.
The other photo is the same man with his companions. When I invited them to have their photo taken, they were naturally very happy - and a couple of the quickly ran off to get a couple of bricks and some materials they use in their work.
I wish I knew what was in that bag.
And a quick aside: In a comment on these photos over on Flickr (click on either picture to go to that site), one reader pointed me to a story about the brick kiln workers in a newspaper website from India. Worth looking at, I think.
And a quick aside: In a comment on these photos over on Flickr (click on either picture to go to that site), one reader pointed me to a story about the brick kiln workers in a newspaper website from India. Worth looking at, I think.
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